Baldur's Gate
by Lazaruss
Summary: This is the beginning of things, the way I'll write it in my book, one day. If not like this, than sort of similar. I know that there's a book all ready, but still I'll write my own.
1. Chapter 1

Baldur's Gate 

Lazaruss : I have a problem with my BG 1( with expansion Tales of the sword coast ). It works just fine until I get my characters close to 11 level ( I think ). When I get there with my characters ( Jaheira, Dynaheir, Immoen, Minsk, Khalid ) I start to get all sorts of bugs, like :

A certain enemy or a relevant plot character ( someone you are suppose to talk to ), starts to multiply all over the screen. The last time I tried to pass Durlag's Tower, I had about a hundred doppelganger-Durlags with one appearing every turn (second).

In-game movies start to play over and over again every turn.

I can't progress beyond because the passages keep opening and closing or they don't respond to the switch.

Please, if you know how to fix this, e-mail me. It's REALLY annoying.

Prologue :

Sands of time rain from bottomless sky. Always being carried on an ever-changing wind, they cover all things beneath a dune sea. There's a story that must be told but it can not be told, for the truth has bean buried beneath this desert's veil. That which there is lost can not be found again and all we can catch are murky reflections that spawn only lies. Let this be my feeble attempt to pass the tale on, though I can do not…

Many have forgotten but we still remember. It was lust and jealousy that sparked the hate and wrought it upon us all. His children grew envy at the house of great AO, and their battles shook his kingdom. It was an angry Overfather who banished them all to descend amongst us lesser as equal and their avatar forms to roam our earth, homes and crops until the rage was spent. It was an angry Overfather who placed Healm, Guardian of Duty to watch the way back to Higher Planes and let no anger re enter his kingdom. Many have forgotten for they didn't want to remember.

It lasted, and lasted as grief consumed. Our divine lords crashed and destroyed. Mountains became deserts, and green forests, fields of ash. Black was the color of our joy and salty red was the taste of our food. But we never lost hope. For thee times three hundred years did this Time of Troubles stood, three for weakest, three for all and three for strongest, with chaos as our sole nourishment. The lands suffered, borders were gone and many glorious cities forever swallowed in flame and water, together with all their wonders. It lasted, and lasted as grief consumed but it never consumed our hope.

In these final years, many Great Ones have died a glorious death, but like nothing more than mere mortals, and their powers were stolen by murderers. Many murderers returned to their exulted homes and passed the Watcher's guard, but a few more remained to feed us with despair. It was in these final years that our mighty Bhaal, Lord of Murder and Commander of Death met his own end in a most cowardly and dishonorable manner. Those who treaded in those days treaded with respect and homage, for his was the form of Murder. The Slayer was it named and of victims was it stitched, with deadliest of poisons coursing trough his vanes. Infused by death of Bhaal's judgment and inhabited by his dark soul, no army could do else but to feed it with their lives. He paced over the bridge, our lord, over the bridge and across the river Nether and his steps echoed with terror, but it echoes no more for Cirich the cowardly, Master of Lies, Lord of Deceit stabbed his knife from behind in the back, and spilt Bhaal's blood in the water below making it forever poisonous. Thus fell Bhaal, and Cirich laughed :

" It is over my friend ! It begun on the Slopes, it spread over clouds, it even touched the world of flesh expelling nightmares into life, and now it ends on this simple wooden bridge. "

But early did Cirich laugh, for his prize escaped, and than Bhaal laughed instead :

" Blind you are, Cirich, blind and deaf. And what little you can smell escapes your touch. A murder of a lie can not undo murder which is I. A simple wooden bridge can not serve as my head stone. "

And Cirich was denied of Bhaal's power, for it wasn't with him, except for few minor flames to fool and delude. That's why our lord is grater than all the others, for he lasted until the end with a shamefully diminished might.

" No !"; Cirich cried :" I am Master of Deception, not you ! I am Lie-Lord ! Not you ! Where is it, Bhaal ! I claim the right to it !"

" Joy while you can… It will not last… Age after age, and spawn will be spawned ! One the most tainted will rise me again… and you won't see us coming !"

And so died Bhaal, Lord of Murder, and Cirich took his place at AO's edict, but heavy was his crown of murder with Bhaal's final words engraved upon it and never did he stop looking over his shoulder.

As it was remembered the story has been told but the truth will never be.

From the Book of Deathstalkers ;

" Master's Legacy "

"_Deep within the center of the universe, there is a world when time stands still, where magic replaces progress, where numerous gods of pandemonium roam amongst mortals, invisible and all present. There all worlds meat, and all beings are mixed amongst each other, between The Abyssal plane and the Pandemonium of gods. This crossroad of all plains has in its middle "The prime primordial plain", which largest part occupies realms of Feirun, great land where races of other worlds live together with one another. The largest city in whole this realm is the city of "Baldur's Gate", and there, in this fortress of stone , does this story begin…"_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter one ; Blood on the streets**

Clouds. Thick as wool. Heavy like delirious dreams. Their snakes of breeze and steam tried to rob the earth of its sky. In wane. A few gaps in their mighty flows revealed a laughing moon that only hounds can worship. Still in wane. Forever in wane. No clear or cloudy night ever caused such dull bruises of fear, but this one did and no one could shield from them. A thunder tore the silence but it wrought no rain. At least a drop, to soften it down, but not a drop will fall for many more weeks. Small creatures were smarter than great ones for they've looked for shelter first, like children seek comfort in their mother's arms all hidden in a basement before an invading army. Malice whispered behind every sound, echoing hidden and all present, though it gave no token of what its source was or where it has begun to sneak trough the shadows. A lingering reminder perhaps, on an age long past…

Some say that all is well that ends well, and to a certain end they are right. A thousand years fled since the great cataclysm which was named The Time of Troubles. It caused old realms to vanish and what people had rebuilt has bean named Forgotten, since. Much blame for consequences fell upon Healm the Watcher, The Vigilant One and he lost many followers since, but duty was his to guard and consequences he could not regret. Today the land stands divided by Forgotten Realms for they had built them desperately trying to recover that which was lost and forgotten. Because of the gods' zeal was the old world lost, a world flooded, a world scorched. Because of our losses they don't stand aside now, but give us their aid when we need it the most and answer our prayers when our words are worthy. But once more the time comes when they will grow deaf and what we thought for ended shall prove to be merely postponed.

An unsuspecting city of Baldur's Gate stood apparently defiant to any who would pass by, but within its walls the sent of war cried in people's awareness, making their dreams darker than the night above. Like bubbles of boiling water in the pot, hate and fear murmured in every home, from the filthiest of baggers to the wealthiest of nobles, and it was all directed towards Amn, the great region to the south-east. But even Amn was unsuspecting, forced to move like a flock beyond the knowledge that it was being forced. Time of peace and flowery words has long since past, faster than a hilltop behind eagle's gaze because now all were gazing at metal. Not gold or silver or bronze, but precious iron that grew too scarce. Swords were no longer sharpened, armor was no longer mended and all those who depended on craftsman's and blacksmith's work became starving like outcasts with no more use. Words were sent but Amn did not reply and now hostility piled up between two forces. The Flaming Fist, a resident garrison of Baldur's Gate held what they could grasp, leaving not a scraps of needles and screws for anyone save the defending army, and people gave their last willingly for battles were just beyond the horizon's edge, announced every day for the next day to come. But in all the mixture of tormenting anticipation and eminent battle cries waiting to be tossed at a hated enemy, there were still two men who couldn't care less about the abyss' edge.

In the northern part of the city, rising like a giant black spear, towering headquarters of Iron Throne the seat of all mining guild loomed still, both silent and deaf to any of town's calls. Deployed of light within or outside it too was at a brink of ruin kept alive only by wealth piled up during years before the climactic shortage. Rather than beating like a heart vane, acting more like a withering flower denied of life giving water, once the mightiest organization in all the realms was the last dying flame in an evening's fireplace. Or so it seamed.

Tonight an assault was made by one man alone. Only one man stirred the local guards, only one slipped pass most of them leaving nothing but corpses to mark his trail, and that one managed to reach far enough to face another. High lord Reiltar, prime governor of Iron Throne stood patiently in his resident chambers awaiting words of intruder's death. Knowing full well of the guard's previous efficiency against this trait, he still had not the least bit of concern or doubt in the outcome. Thick short hair, black like freshly mined coal hung above his wrinkled forehead and his thin lips were concealed by a neatly cut beard. The chamber it self was a wealthy library filled with tall bookshelves of graywood and many extravagant displays of nobility like statues of ancestors carved in marble. Even a bust of Balduran, the legendary hero who founded the city decorated crimson walls with its radiance. Pooling up a chair, Reiltar snorted and sat behind his writing desk filled with secret reports of rising tides. As he sat his green vestment caught a bit of air within and silently glided down around him releasing it slowly. The intruder occupied his mind. Alone wolf sent to sniff his store room. Wolves were common in the forming tale, sneaky paws and shrewd filth of all who sensed his plans. _Perhaps this mutt belongs to Zentharum._ He thought : _Their ranks are always full of those. Useful they may be, but only in most cases, and this is not that case. No one knows that a shark swims in my lake. No one can see my dragon in this bush._ A report came to his hands of the Zentharum region far to the east. It seemed that they were trying to ally with Amn against the city and now they've sent their Zent assassin here to lubricate negotiations. _They would serve my sowed head and pass it as dish... if your beast is any match to mine. _Another report caught his eye, this one coming from the forests of Cloackwood. His stepson was right. The forthcoming war has already chosen its victor. Just a few more months and Baldur's Gate will smite all enemies with Iron Throne in the lead. The lad was the right person to take care of it. He already defeated every trainer there was. Ruthless as they get and sharp like diamond's edge, he will provide victory for all of them. _He'll take care of everything._

Top flours which housed receptions, were now empty and silent like the rest of the tower. Minutes ago, sounds of steel banging on steel and cries of duel entwined with demented laughs erased any shred of silence. Old torches on blue walls begun to die out making room for the silken darkness, a grim spawn of the night. Slow but menacing footsteps stirred the deaf air that inhabited a corridor, connecting empty rooms for visiting lords. A mountain of a knight with a large blade in his right hand slowly paced trough, and with his fiery eyes he wounded the shadow. One would choose blackness over those, for if a murderous ice could house amber it would be his gaze. His armor of dark metal was an image of a monster. By three blades on each specter face mounted on his shoulders, and by three more on each forearm all like crooked daggers, with a large buckle on his belt depicting a scull in a ring of fire bolls. His helmet was a horned screaming scull of a human-like beast and his gauntlets were sharp metal claws, lightly gripping the hilt of his huge sword. The blade was a twohander, but he wielded it like a one hand sword with an equal ease and unmatched skill. A drop of blood slid down the sword's edge barely noticeable on such scarce light. The dark knight laughed as he stalked his pray with quiet laughs like a demon's cunning, and than his blazing eye fell on a trail of blood. He crouched and passed his metallic claw over a small ruby pound as if he wanted to cut the very blood with his finger. Placing the sword on his back he spoke in the darkness where the trail was leading :

" What shall I call you other than a Zent interloper ?"

No voice answered his question. He stood up and walked on with his weapon still in its boots.

" I'm no Zent. "; it came finally, from somewhere within the corridor. These hopeless and weary words forced a snort out of him.

The dark knight smiled beneath the metal jaw of his scull-helmet :

" You are, as far as my fool stepfather is concerned. " he spoke as he walked trough the corridor :" But what is the real truth ? What beastie is it, that tries to bite an armored leg, and than runs when its teeth are broken ?... Gibberling !"

With this final word he razed his metallic forearm, catching the blade that tried to collapse on him. His other arm made a fist, striking the attacker hidden in the shadows. Another knight fled trough the air, knocked away by giant's strength and resumed sliding over smooth marble as he landed, smudging his blood over the flour. He had a silvery armor with decorations of blue cloth now colored red by his opened wounds, and his helmet had two long horns with white and blue rings painted on them. He swiftly picked him self up and forgetting his sword, he limped away as fast as he could. The dark knight giggled sadistically and started pacing after him casually.

" Where are you, little gibberling ? You cannot cover your taint. It draws me stronger than your trail of blood. "

He came to the end of a corridor where a dining room stood. A large chamber dressed in yellow sateen with comfy furniture and crystal tables. It was still maintained clean and tidy, though the guests he would house there had other tastes. His quarry run up the stairs that led on a small balcony, and he grinned as he paced on to corner him.

Another lightning flashed in the distance making the black roof white for just an instant. A thunder followed as a wooden dour opened, and a tormented visage of a knight lumbered exhaustedly and collapsing. The dour closed behind him concealing him from withering torches within the staircase, and he panted and heaved swallowing cold air with wide opened mouth. The balcony was the very roof of the tower, bordered with a tall iron fence of black spears. A cage. There was no way out of there. Maybe… Maybe he won't find him...

In a moment of violent terror he turned gasping as the wooden dour burst in splinters and his pursuer stepped forth, black on torch lights from behind and white on the lightning flash from beyond. Laughter echoed around the monstrous man, with the sound in his throat that splintering bones would be proud of and his blazing eyes seemed like windows to an inferno. The blue knight started to drag him self backwards on all four before this nightmarish vision :

" No…no you can't… "

" I will be the last !... And you will go first…"; the dark knight grinned as he started his final approach.

Fear gave him strength to rise from the flour, the same fear that strained his every fiber like an iron cord.

" The… There are others ! I can show you ! Please… PLEASE !"

He tried to turn and run but the black fence greeted him instead. As he turned back he saw a fist for just an instant and than white filled his sight. Air was so heavy beneath the burden of pain. The helmet with long blue and white horns rolled back and forth a few paces away from him. He was barely conscious as a sharp freezing hand took him by his neck and razed him like a puppet. Another lightning clouded his sight and his body broke trough the iron fence still hanging in this beastly grip. Air was denied to him. He felt like he would choke in his own vomit, but nothing could pass trough his throat any more. With last strands of strength he banged on the arm that held him, and banged so until the last chocking sound broke out of his sealed lungs. Those blazing laughing eyes faded with the rest of the night... A pink mist everywhere… his hand dissolving in a swarm of yellow dots, first the skin, than the muscle… A scull in a ring of fire bolls… than the bone… it was gone.

The dark knight spat the last few wicked laughs and hurled the dead body on the streets below. He went silent and closed his eyes waiting to receive the reward for his triumph not waiting for the corpse to hit the ground. A golden cloud of fireflies hovered to him from the depths beneath, closing around him like a sphere and green mist seemed to gather around his feet. He laughed out loud, screaming each breath while power surged into him, poring more and more oil on the flame within his soul, and than in a crack of thunder it was all over. The cloud of glittering dots dispersed, vanishing trough the cracks in stone tiles. At once exhausted and strengthened, he took a deep breath and his hungry gaze of fire turned towards south and the direction of a great keep beyond the horizon, at the sharp cliffs of the western shore.

" Soon, now… Soon… "

" You wish for now too quickly. "; a soft woman's voice came behind him.

He turned towards the speaker, an elf girl whose words were like a child's whisper. She was a warrior kin with a silvery armor and her head bore short messy blond hair. Like all elves her pointy ears were almost three times as long as human's, and her large eyes, slightly sloping towards her short nose, were deep like mountain lakes. And filled with concern.

" While I whish for it not to come. "; she said with a mild shudder :" Your ambition has taken over your life, and as I look upon you my eyes cannot pierce it. "

His gaze grew softer and he ran towards her taking her tiny palms into his. She was almost two thirds of his height and as he gazed down upon her she had to raze his sight to him.

" I'm afraid, my love. I fear of what you are doing to your self. With each day… "

" With each day, each hover, every second of every hover, my power grows. "; He cut her of softly :" I am changing, Tamako. But my heart will always be yours. By my father's blood, it always has bean. "

She razed his strong hands closer to her, trying to feel him trough the metal of his gauntlets, but it resonated only in chill and cruel magic which was forged into it. And than a drop of blood glittered on the metallic claw. She gazed back at him disturbed.

" I love you. "; she said :" And I fear of you. I fear… for you. "

" No. "; he reached for her cheek and his large palm covered it completely :" Do not say that. I need you by my side, Tamako. I can't do this without you. To abyss with all the others ! I need you ! "; she bowed her head down but he gently lifted her chin up to face her :" I know my every gesture draws fear but not in you. Never in you. "

She attempted a fade smile :

" Let us go away. Just the two of us. Somewhere where no one will find us… "

He shut his fiery eyes and after a little tighter squeeze he released her palms and passed behind her :

" If an apple grows too heavy, "; he said after a moment :" the tree is burdened by its weight with no one to pick it. It waits, and the tree waits. The day is coming for me, and the ripe fruit is whispering. Name the place where days do not reach and whispers are too silent. "

She bowed her head and sighed sadly as the lightning flashed on the horizon. He turned to her again :

" Please have faith, Tamako. Soon I shall give you everything your hearth desires. Soon I shall have what is due, what is mine, and only you deserve to be at my side. Please, last. Tell me that you'll last. "

He took her shoulders as if poring his strength into her and she smiled just a little :

" I could never betray you, my dark knight. I shall give my life for you and any of my aid, such as it is. "

" All it takes is your love. "; he whispered

" That you already have. And I know you have love for me… but I can not see it any more beneath your anger… and it stings me to look. "

He turned and snorted loudly :

" It is mine, Tamako. And I chose to claim it. No other shall come this far while I draw breath. It is too late to stand down. It was always too late. "

He left her there retreating back inside to inform his stepfather of the intruder's demise and Tamako unleashed silent tears that finally softened the malice away, and Morning Lord started to conquer the night.

" …Lathender… help me… "


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter two ; Stolen life**

_Lazaruss : I never did like the name Abdel. I don't know why, but I never did. That's why I call upon my artistic license and thus alter it to a more preferable one…_

_P.S. : you never did mail me about that bug in BG1._

" Hey, Des ; slow down a bit !"; Dreppin said to a shirtless lad with a sword who was massacring a fearsome looking straw dummy at the back of the stable. The thing was made of wood and hay tied to a ceiling by its head, but now its hay suit was scattered over the flour and the wooden support was all chewed and splintered. The lad lowered the blade, wiped the sweat off his face and took a few deep breaths to restore him self, but his mood did not improve. He still seemed sourer than vinegar. Desmond wasn't angry all that much, but for the past week he was more than depressed, constantly filling his time with various chores to take his mind off things. His friends knew he had a hard time and though they tried their best to aid him and cheer him up, they were mostly inefficient.

At this point, Dreppin was leading Bes, his prized cow back from the pasture. The animal was not feeling well of late. As he came in, he found Desmond using a sword that clearly didn't belong to him to turn his practice dummy into fire wood. Desmond made the thing him self recently, to have it serve as a way of burning the extra frustration, but he couldn't get a sword out of the practice ground and he definitely couldn't afford one. Not in those days. So the dummy was just hanging in the stables up until now.

" Look at you, dripping wet. A little more of that and the straw would grow green again. "; Dreppin said as he tied Bes up :" Where did you get the sword any way ?"; he asked casually

" It's Hull's. "; Desmond replied while whipping the damp with his blue shirt :" He asked me to bring it to him from the guard's bunk house. "

" And he allowed you to play with it a little before he receives it ?"; Dreppin looked at him sideways.

" Well… no… but he would have, had I… taught of asking him. "

Desmond was a strong lad of twenty, with a short lush hair that had a color of a tree bark. Those few girls in the keep taught of him pretty handsome, and he was far from being the shy one. He had his share of ladies every now and than, but his relationships never lasted long. Attachments never suited his taste. He was spending most of his time ether reading ether practicing sword dance, which was a popular entertainment for women to watch. When he would have some time off from his chores he would mostly spend them ether on one of these two hobbies ether causing mischief with his sister, and once they would get caught he would always defend telling that it was her that dragged him into the mess. At those times it seemed like nether of them would ever truly mature. But he was not like that for the past month, especially not in this week. A while back he grew ill with concern and since than it only got worse.

Dreppin was a good friend for an elderly farmer, twice as old as Desmond. He had a pale peasant's shirt and rough trousers, with his messy black hair filled with bits of straw every here and there. He was barefooted most of the time but just because he preferred his toes free, rather than in a shoe. Like a faithful companion, his long staff was in his hand resting over his left shoulder, the same staff that he used when he taught Desmond his first few moves in combat. He had that stick since forever and sometimes when he would drink over the top he would brag that it's his families' legacy.

Desmond put his shirt back on as Dreppin approached :

" He'll be all right, Des. "; he said :" He's much tougher than you know. "

The lad looked at him sort of sad, not sharing his convictions, but still smiled and nodded at him :

" Thank you. "; he said and took the blade in his hands :" I… better get this back to Hull. If they should discover he forgot his sword this morning… "

He passed by Dreppin who tapped him on the shoulder in passing, and gazed after him worried. As he was gone, Dreppin took what was left of the dummy and detached it off its rope. The way it was now, it would be easier to build a new, rather than try to mend this one. Desmond was always good with a blade, but he seemed to want more than a mere watcher's duty. They did offer him certain jobs at numerous occasions, but he would always turn them down, saying that he'll think about it. It was mostly because he valued his freedom. He was doing what he wanted with his life and lived simply for tomorrow, rather than making plans for the future. Heck, most people in Candlekeep lived simply for tomorrow, since it was so well isolated from the rest of the Realms. The great library had a strict policy for those who whished to study priceless lore it housed. No one was allowed entry without making a donation in a tome that would be valued by resident sages, and the locals who would leave rarely came back.

The great Candlekeep was the most renowned library on the face of Feirun. Nestled high on top of the cliffs that rise from Sword Coast it stood as a small world for it self, a fortress protected and bordered from all the intrigues which occasionally plagued the rest of the Forgotten Realms. The library it self was an ancient castle razed centuries ago, retaining its purpose till this very day. Founded by none other than Aluando the Wise, a sage of great power whose title was by all means worthy of a man he was, it gathered and mustered ancient scripts and books that a few people ever heard of. The main building surrounded by beautiful inner courtyard, was in the center of a small village of locals, watchers and scholars, and around the village stretched the high Watcher's Wall that efficiently cut of Candlekeep from the outside world. The Ring Street that surrounded the library's inner courtyard was the only street in Candlekeep and was often full of priests, mages and all those hungry for ancient knowledge the keep housed, and it also provided root for farmers and peasants, for their chores and daily activities. The street was actually nothing more than a dirt road with bits of stumped green grass every now and than but still it was more than sufficient for any day in the village. Simple people were few and most of them knew everyone, including the library monks and readers.

Most people knew Desmond and his family. When they arrived to live here twenty years ago, everyone grew fond of them and they were quickly welcomed in the small community. An old sage and his two adopted child, though trouble makers at some points, won most hearts with their innocence and generosity. That was why most people were worried seeing Desmond walking by, burdened and sad. They were grieved that the lad who once laughed and glowed with good mood now lost almost any desire to draw a smile, and they were grieved even more not being able to lighten his baggage.

With dark clouds above his head, Desmond came to the eastern gate, the main and only passage trough the Watcher's Wall, where the watcher Hull stood his guard, occasionally yawning. Due to his poor sleep the previous night, he was weary and tired which caused him to leave his sword in the watcher's Guard House. The man had a chain mail shirt, typical for the watchers and it was well polished to glitter like silver. His dark beard shrouded his palm as he cowered his yawning mouth and bits of curls fell over his forehead beneath his simple helmet. As he saw Desmond approach he rolled his eyes and sighed :

" Finally ! What took you so long ? Can you imagine what would happen, had captain Fuller found out. Lady Tymora must have smiled three times on me this day. "

" Sorry, Hull. "; Desmond said depressed as he handed him the sword :" I simply had to do something… selfish. "

Hull observed him :

" Gorion is still the same, is he ?"

" Yes. "; Desmond looked away :" I've never seen him like this. What ewer's eating him from within, causes him to age by the day. "

" Look Des, "; Hull started :" he… certainly has his reasons for keeping it to him self. And you won't do your self any good sulking about it day after day. "

" I can't help it, Hull. I've tried to talk to him, but he doesn't open up to me. It… frightens me. Master Tethorill might know but he is as silent as he is about the meter. "

" Bah. "; Hull said :" One would think these sages wouldn't talk. I've never met one who knew when to shut up. They all think they know everything. Well… maybe they do, but all I'm saying is that your father might not be telling you because of your well being. "

" What do you mean ?"; Desmond grudged

" Who knows ? The way I figure, you are as good reason as any to bind his tongue. "; Hull sighed and changed the subject :" Listen Des, aside from that, you should really have a talk with your sister. "

Desmond smirked softly :

" What did she do now ?"

" We have no idea and we didn't dare to ask, but lord Luck left in quite a hurry. Barely walking and he was riding somehow strangely, like he couldn't sit or something. Yelling curses he was, and so loud, gods them selves must have covered their ears and... What by Oghma's writings did you do with my sword ?"

Desmond was caught of guard in that moment. Hull was looking at his sword with a shock of anger. When he took the blade from the Bunk House, Desmond first wanted to try it out, than he tried to use it on a haystack, than a bush and finally settled with his hand-made dummy in Dreppin's stables. Of course he practiced in the fighting grounds, but ether with a wooden sword or a dull blade. Sometimes he would go to Gatewarden's chambers and the mage would summon illusions to fight with, though these times were few and the sword he would use would always vanish once it was over. He just had to swing this one a couple of times, but he got carried away, and now it got obviously duller than before. Hull's sword was one of the better ones, which in the time of this iron shortage meant that it needed sharpening after such a treatment. And the worst part of this was that it didn't help to remove Desmond's frustration.

" Ehe… well… I… "; he muttered

" Look at it !"; Hull moaned :" I'd be better of using a plank now ! What is this ? A splinter ?"; he took a small chip of wood stuck near the hilt :" You've used my sword to chop stumps ? Do you have any idea how much… "

" Desmond !"; another voice came behind them.

They both quieted and turned towards the newcomer. An old man in a gray robe was pacing swiftly from the direction of the library. As he called his name, Desmond immediately forgot about Hull, his sword and anything else that occupied his mind. Hull went silent too, recognizing the approaching sage. His gray and white hair was a mess and his rounded short beard wasn't that neatly trimmed any more. He had quite intense bags beneath his eyes, but still he moved with a speed of a young man. As Gorion reached them he first took a long gaze at his stepson. For a few moments they've just stood there watching each other with concern and a little anticipation, and than Gorion smiled slightly and offered Desmond his coin purse :

" Here child, complete your chores and than you must take this to Winthrop. "; while he spoke it gave the impression that he was thinking something like _there's no easy way to do this._

" What's it for ?"; Desmond asked. By weight he was guessing that it had quite a few coins in there.

" Supplies. "; Gorion said :" For the trip. "

" A trip ?"; Desmond's eyes bulged

" Listen to me, child ; It is of utmost importance that you pack your things and come with me. Time that was granted to us is finally at an end. "

" Come with you ? But father… "; Desmond started

" Not now, child. "; Gorion cut him of razing his palm :" Please, have some faith in me and do as I've told you. Finish what you have left, by what you think we'll need and once you're packed, meet with me at the main library entrance. "; he turned to go, but remembered something as he was walking away :" O, and tell Winthrop to give you that little thing we talked about. "

As swiftly as he appeared, Gorion left. Desmond just looked at Hull with misunderstanding :

" So, I guess this is good by, Hull "; he said

" Well, we'll meet again. "; Hull tried to smile :" I mean, you're going to come back, right ?"

" Right. "; Desmond answered after a few moments of silence :" Fear well, old friend. "

He shook his hand and paced away, and once he was gone too, Hull slapped him self on the forehead :

" Damn that lad ! He still owes my blade a sharpening !"

Desmond hurried down the Ring Street towards the eastern warehouse. Rats there were making troubles of late, and the dwarf Reevor shared him the honors of settling them down. Reevor was handling most instructions in Candlekeep, always running around and dispatching chores and responsibilities. He knew to be a little strict sometimes, but he made every job well organized and most work would often be done by the middle of the day.

As Desmond walked to the warehouse he was les thinking on the task at hand and more on things that Gorion would introduce him to outside Candlekeep. It seemed like answers for his questions were waiting for him instead, just around the next corner, and he found him self whishing for a world with round buildings. There was something malignant in all of this but it was quite ironic to see the light at the end of a dark tunnel and to be afraid of what it will bring. No. He waited long enough. It was time to step forth and get out of the dark. Gorion finally made his move and he won't hesitate much longer to share his burdens with him. Anything was better than this tormenting ignorance while his father was decaying alone in the pit of his invisible burdens. One can not fight what he can't see. _Let's just get this over with._

He was well on his way and the old warehouse was just around the next curve, but than someone whispered his name. He glanced around. The street was empty and deserted, which was very strange at this time of day. And yet, the call came again from the nearby priest's quarters. The small mess hall, which scholars would use occasionally to discuss various revelations, had its windows obscured by green curtains. The dour were slightly opened and it seemed like there was only one candle burning in there. Something was not right. With a trace of fear, but also with a sense of haste, Desmond swiftly strolled up three wooden steps and entered the room. There were just enough tables and chairs for about ten people, and a simple stone fireplace that now housed only smoking ash and a few glowing brands. Insufficient light of a lonely candle flame danced on the walls. He observed the surroundings, but it seemed like there was no one else there with him.

Desmond frowned. Someone called him from here and yet… All the windows were shut, so it must have come trough the gap in the dour. He turned as the dour made a silent click behind him and saw a strange man with his hand on them. Desmond didn't know him, and for that he was most grateful. The stranger was a very disturbing sight with a long scar on his left cheek, his chin was somehow square like and as he smiled he revealed a few missing teeth. He had a garment made of hard leather that served like some kind of cheep armor and a dark hood stained with road dust was pooled over his head. It seemed somehow obvious that he could afford better clothes, but simply didn't care. Since there was no one else here, Desmond tried to smile a bit and spoke :

" Good day, ser. Do you need assistance of a sort ?"

The man observed him for a moment or two acting a bit surprised :

" So you are Desmond, the foster child of Gorion. Are you, now ?"

That sounded pretty much like the whisper that drew him here :

" That I am. Is there something I can do for you ?"

The man separated from the dour and smiled like a serpent :

" Well, you are a surprise, but a deal is a deal. No boy, there really isn't much you can do for me, other than to die. "

At once a knife glittered in his hand and with a wicked grin he lunched at the surprised lad. Desmond yelled and somehow managed to dodge, but it was far from over. The knife jumped again, hungry for fresh meet and he barely managed to escape it this time. The stranger was well skilled with it. The knife it self seemed expensive with its white handle cowered in carvings and silvery blade made of strong iron. In a moment, Desmond rolled over the table and than knocked it on the side before this assassin to gain a few seconds of time. He looked around the room. It had no weapons, but the dour were now reachable to him. He charged for them but as he approached, he realized that the handle on the inner side was missing, probably removed to prevent his escape. The man laughed behind him and suddenly Desmond knew that he is about to fling his knife at him. He could clearly see it in the back of his mind and all of the sudden his head ducked. The handle found it self sticking out of the wood a few inches above his head.

Desmond almost fell down with a shock and he backed away before the foul thing that almost took his life. He was too scared to think straight. Just as he taught that it was over, the man took another dagger from somewhere within his sleeve. This one was a little bigger and it seemed that the man gave up dagger throwing for the moment. He started to approach him again, but than Desmond realized that the fireplace was just next to him and that a moment was at his disposal. He swiftly grabbed one random peace of unburned wood from the pile of ash and amber and in the last moment he used it to divert the knife from its direction to his hearth. It was just like he used to practice in the fighting ground, though now it wasn't a game. With an unexpected twist, he sent the knife away and the man screamed jumping back before the hot peace of wood that caught the skin beneath his left eye. Desmond got a little bolder and caught his breath. His attacker was holding for the burn on his face and as he gazed back at Desmond, pure hatred flashed in his eyes. He roared with rage and charged at full speed. It was too late to think. In the last moment, Desmond bended aside, planting his foot and the hand with his burning rod got from the side in the body of his attacker.

It happened so quickly he could barely realize that his weapon was now broken. The man stopped. Knife fell to the flour and clattered on it before settling. A longer peace of Desmond's rod was completely within a hole in the man's leathery clothing. At first the wound was black, but than blood seemed to rush out of it with great eager. The man turned shocked with sadness to his former pray. Somehow he was still alive and he managed to limp closer to Desmond who was paralyzed on the spot. He wanted to back away, but couldn't get his feet to move. The man fell on his chest, struggling to keep on breathing, and for a few seconds alone they stared in each other's face, until the stranger's eyes went flickering beneath his collapsing eye lids and at last he slid down on the flour.

Desmond gasped for air. His shacking hand still squeezed the broken off peace of the half burned wood. Eyes stalked him. Dying eyes that stared at him so horrifyingly sad. It was horrible. He felt like he will throw up. Somehow he just had to find his way out and he broke trough the dour with a strong slug. Once outside, away from that grizzly darkness he collapsed on his palms and started to pant like a thirsty dog. The man was dead by his hand. He killed him. _I killed him._

But suddenly as the realization struck him something strange bubbled up inside him and took the grief away. In that instant time stood still and he was at once empty like a shell. There was no week limbs, no freezing air, just a pleasant chill that shielded him from the fire around. He felt an urge to smile. The last hissing breaths of a dying man whispered in his mind. Just to smile… _No…It's… not right…_ It was so easy to be joyous and simply too hard to remain sad. Grass before him was burning in green color. Blood was rushing out of the wound so fast. At once he was frightened again. _It's… not right… not right…_ Eyes stared back at him, dying over and over again. The man's horror flooded the air. He could smell… feel… taste it and was disgusted by it. _Enough !..._Disgusted by the fact he wanted to taste it. _Desmond…_ Something tried to make him listen. He didn't want to listen. _Desmond…_ Green grass was glittering like… The eyes collapsed on him, but he looked away. _Desmond…_ Desmond ? Desmond !

At once it was over. Ring Street was as it always was and the sun was casting its golden rays that glittered on soft grass. Visibly shaken he looked at the face before him and met with teacher Padrah.

" Desmond ? What's wrong ?"; Padrah said with great worry :" You just collapsed here and you didn't answer me. "

Padrah was one of the monks, sometimes a part of Chanting Voices, a sort of a choir for old prophecies and scripts meant for a more eloquent pronunciation. He had quite an eloquent voice but still he liked to spend more time reading and teaching. He was teaching other children how to read and write and it was him who a while back introduced Desmond to his passion for books. Padrah was a younger cleric of middle thirty, in a yellow robe and his hair was dark and long descending in a tail beneath his neck. His face was often in a warm smile, but now it was a face of a worried friend.

Padrah's face gave a clear state that it was over. Desmond smiled at him relieved and than suddenly remembered.

" Padrah… Master Padrah, there… was a man in there… "; he pointed at the priest's quarters :" He had a knife… "

" A knife ?"; the teacher bulged

" He… I… I killed him. "

Padrah was greatly disturbed. He swiftly went up the stairs and took a peek in the dark room. As he returned he helped Desmond up and cleaned the grass and dirt from his palms and knees, since he wasn't in a condition to do it him self :

" Did he hurt you ?"; he asked

Desmond only than wondered if he was wounded, but the answer was no. He shook his head and noticed that Reevor was just next to him. Dwarves were a short race, vicious as warriors and supreme as craftsmen. They had a lot of crazy hair on their heads, their faces were rough and filled with bumps, and most of them were gifted with a voice that could summon autumn in the middle of a spring. Reevor was about two feet shorter than any human within the keep but more capable than most of them. His only problem was that he didn't know when he was demanding too much. Obscured by brown curly hair, he gazed thoughtfully at the lad.

" It seems that Gorion is right to be wishing ye to depart. "; Reevor spoke :" There be a lot of strange folk asking about both of ye today. "

" When master Reevor saw that you weren't arriving yet, "; Padrah started :" we went looking for you. This is a serious meter. I'll call the watchers to clear the mess up, but you should heed master Gorion's words and leave as soon as possible. "

Desmond reached for his belt and the bag of coin his father gave him. It was still waiting to be delivered to Winthrop the innkeeper in exchange for the supplies for the trip. The trip came back to him. He suddenly got the feeling that he was not coming back and he shuddered that this might be the last time he sees Candlekeep.

" Stop that you silly monk !"; Reevor popped :" Ye sound like ye be wanting to get rid of the lad. "

" I know what master Padrah is saying. "; Desmond pronounced shaken :" This… attack on my life might be connected to what my father's worries. But is it over… now that… he is dead ?"

Is it possible that this was all about an attack on his life ? But why ? Why did this man want to murder him ? Did he want to hurt Gorion by doing this ? But gorion never mentioned any old depths. He frowned. Gorion never mentioned anything particular from the past before he adopted him and his little sister. He only told them that they were abandoned at their births and that their families died long ago. He wondered back about what the stranger said : _A deal is a deal._ A deal requires two sides at least and only one was out so far. The taught made him shudder, not because of fear for the other sides but for thinking about this whole thing like some kind of a business arrangement. To play games with people's lives was a most disgusting thing he could imagine.

" I can't take that chance. "; he said after a while :" Me and my father should still leave as soon as possible. In the mean time I would ask you to make sure that he knows what has occurred here. "

" A wise call. "; Padrah agreed :" You always did have a cool head on your shoulders. And I apologize if my previous words have offended you. You will be greatly missed while you are gone. "

" And I'll have to find someone else to take care of the wretched rats. "; Reevor sighed and smiled at him :" Good by lad, and Murradin's luck upon you. "

They've shook hands and Desmond was off to the Candlekeep Inn taking a shortcut trough the library's inner grounds. The garden that bloomed around him with spring's full glow, didn't reach him this time as he quickly passed by tucked in burdening thoughts. The murder he'd just committed haunted him on his every turn. But more than that he wondered about that insanity that possessed him afterwards. In one short moment he could have swore that it was the most appealing thing in the world to take a life in a violent fashion, and now as he remembered it, it made his breakfast come back to him with guilt. Well, he was shaken by Gorion and all this for a month now. It would make anyone a little crazy. What ever madness it was, it passed now and he valued his guilty conscience, willingly giving into it. He was so lost in his wonderings that an aged mage in a red robe had to grab him by the shoulder rather than calling him again.

" Well young one, you are deeply sailed away today, are you ?"

" Master Tethoril… "; Desmond cleared his throat :" Sorry… ah… I was in a hurry. "

Tethoril was the library's Prime Reeder, which was an influential position, but more importantly he was Gorion's best friend since before they've settled to live here. Sometimes in Gorion's numerous bedtime stories Desmond could make out two traveling spellcasters sharing each others company and adventures. There was never much word of the life his father had before he took him and his sister in, but what little he could peace together stated that it was full of adventures, intrigues and battles. He might have bean a great hero even, which would explain the fact that Gorion was the only person, as far as he could tell, with enough influence to come and leave Candlekeep whenever and with whoever he pleased. Tethoril on the other hand was here a bit longer than Gorion. He was the most educated men one could ever meet. He must have known every language there ever was and every word in the most random book in the whole library.

" You are more than in a hurry, young one. "; Tethoril noticed :" Chilling wind blows in your passage. Even a blind man could notice that some evil has occurred. "; his voice echoed on the library walls :" And now I hear that you and your father are about to leave. While I mourn for your departure, I must say that the time for hurry is long overdue. But still would you waist a few moments to indulge me ?"

" Some… man attacked me. "; Desmond said :" He tried to kill me. I… "

Tethoril just nodded and stopped him :

" Than it is as I thought. Your sight tells the rest clearly enough. But at least you are unharmed. "; Desmond bowed his head in shame :" Do not blame your self for your actions. It was him who chose that path willingly. "

" But still… "; Desmond muttered :" I don't think that it had to be that way. I… never wanted him to die… "; for a moment he remembered how it felt on the ground outside priests quarters and he just shivered. _No, I didn't want him to die._

" What's done is done. "; Prime Reeder said and led them on :" And what awaits to be done grows impatient. I really shouldn't ask this of you at a time like this, but would you do me a great service and deliver this scroll to my friend Firebeard at the in ?"

He presented a peace of rolled paper.

" I don't think I have the time. "; Desmond sighed

" Oh, you are safe for the moment. The watchers have bean summoned by now and that bought you the rest of the day. "

" But I thought you said that things grow impatient ?"; Desmond frowned :" What about my father ? He must be growing impatient too. "

Tethoril smiled amused :

" Save for Gorion, impatience is most appropriate for the others, wouldn't you think ?"

" What others ?"; He suspected that Tethoril knew more than what he was saying.

" Who ever else is involved. "; the old mage sniffed :" They have to tune their watches towards you, don't they ? So you can annoy them a little, just enough for them to slip. You should still make haste but once you're done you just might find enough time to do an old man a favor. "; Tethoril gazed at him with an innocent smile offering him the rolled parchment.

" All right, master Tethoril. "; Desmond took it :" I'll spare a moment to give this to master Firebeard. "

" Thank you most kindly, young one. Of you go now. "

Desmond paced along leaving the old mage alone. Tethoril took a gaze at the garden. At that moment the sun was on the other side of the library and a great shadow gently cowered that part of the inner courtyard. For a moment he reached to brush a crimson rouse blossom with his finger tips. Just a drop of his powerful magic and it happily opened into a huge blood red rose. He grudged at it and with a troubled heart he too went towards the Inn.

Candlekeep Inn was a more preferable place for lords and nobility, next to the great library. The building it self had three flours but basically it was not much larger than most others in the village and the only thing that was separating it aside from it's height was the smell of roast and pleasant music that emanated from within. As Desmond approached with Gorion's feisty purse he sighed sadly and walked trough the dour. At once, cheer and happy mood bloomed all around but it still stood away and he was not a part of it. His hearth clenched at the taught of leaving this behind, all these people and his home, and he didn't even know why.

The entrance hall was of dark wood, filled with sweet smoke of burning roast. Many round tables were filled with people of greater and lesser statue, monks, priests and other library's folk interacting and sharing their literary finds. Handsome waitresses served drinks, minding that no mug was ever half empty and opposite from the dour and left of the staircase was a small band of musicians playing flutes and violins. People were cheerful, deep into their cups and conversations, and Desmond could just stare sadly at them for the last time.

" Oy, new rules !"; the fat innkeeper behind the bar yelled :" If you want to join in, you must pay a rent of ten thousand gold peaces !"

As Desmond turned in a wonder, the man's face got red and than he burst in laughter :

" Lad, you should see the look on your face ! I'd swore that for a moment you actually fell for it !"

Desmond blushed and finally stretched a smile over his lips :

" I wouldn't be too proud about it, Winthrop. The way this day is going, I'd be surprised if you don't charge your drinks twice as much. "

Fat Winthrop, the innkeeper was the most cheerful sort of a person you'd ever hope to meet, always cracking jokes and making even really serious problems into a laughable meter. His voice was a bit roughened by all the ale that passed trough his throat and what little was left of his hair was white and gray. The green and yellow apron cowered in flower was a bit tight on him but he never complained about it or anything else. Imoen, Desmond's younger sister always liked spending time around Winthrop, ever since she was a little girl. It was their secret that penance for her pranks and games she would spend with him was actually a lot of fun.

Winthrop gave Desmond his "come closer" look and as he approached the bar, he started whispering :

" Listen Des, I've got just the thing for you. That loud mouth lord Luck left this morning most upset and I still have his empty room… "; Winthrop gazed down at a mug he was wiping before continuing.

" Winthrop… "

" Now, it's a rumor amongst my staff that Bona, that dark tanned beauty in the corner,… "; he gestured to one of the waitresses and as Desmond tossed a gaze she returned him a smile :" …is _really_ upset about your troubles… "

" Winthrop… "

" And I know for a fact that she'd give an ear to your case over a few drinks, and than after who knows ? A few laughs, a dance, and if it goes well you'd have a lordly room to spare. Huh ?"

Desmond blushed again and gestured his friend to stop.

" Winthrop, this is from my father. "; he handed him the bag of coin :" It is for supplies for the journey. We are about to leave today. "

The fat innkeeper bulged his eyes a little and whistled :

" That's kind of a short notice, isn't it ?"

" Yeah. "; Desmond sighed

" Your old man still hasn't told you what's on his mind, has he ?"

" No. But he'll have to, soon. With everything that's happened. "

" Yeah, I've heard about the attack in the priest's quarters… don't look at me like that. Am I not the innkeeper ? So, I guess you'll be needing that thing I promised old Gorion, than. "

" Well, he did mention something else you should give me… "; Desmond frowned reminded

Winthrop sighed and lit a candle :

" Follow me. "

They went down to basement. The room wasn't maintained very clean, but it served well for cooling down drinks and keeping smoked ham fresh. Many large barrels lay on their sides lined over the left wall and the inviting smell of salty meat teased Desmond's appetite. Winthrop razed the candle and lit an oil lamp, hanging on the wall. He handed it to Desmond and led him on to a sight that made his mouth pop open. Small flames from their lights danced on a silvery surface of strong hard plate armor suited on a wooden support dummy. It was beautiful with small scratched carvings over its plates and the way it seemed it was practically a matching size for Desmond. He reached with his hand and touched the dusty metal. Winthrop smiled :

" My cousin's, nephew's, sister's, husband's… or something like that… Any way, the guy traveled a lot since before the shortage and somehow this thing got stuck with me. "

" Winthrop… "; Desmond started :" This must be worth a fortune… "

" Well, that's one way to estimate what your father did for me. I think its better that I hand it over to you. You definitely need it more than my fat hide does. "

Desmond snorted and gazed thankfully at Winthrop. He was without words of joy. Finally he had a real armor for a real knight, like he'd always dreamed of. And after a while a chubby innkeeper and a familiar looking knight in an enviable though a little dusty armor got back up to the main flour. The money Gorion provided was enough for four day's worth of supplies and a sword from Winthrop's stock. It was the best blade available, though it seemed fragile, like it would shatter on a stronger blow. But never the less, Desmond was overjoyed, and he almost forgot to ask about master Firebeard. He found him at the fireplace, quietly sipping his drink. An old man in an expensive yellow robe was a formidable cleric and a friendly sort. This was not the first time he visited Candlekeep. Strange as it was he was now alone in a quiet corner and as Desmond approached he smiled nodded approvingly :

" Well if it isn't a new armor, young master Desmond ?"

" The best one there is, master Firebeard. "; Desmond smiled. He met him a few times but only in passing and didn't really know him all that well :" Prime Reader Tethoril sends you this, along with his regards. "; he handed him the scroll

" Ah, this shall be of great use to my future studies. "; he smiled and glanced back at Desmond :" You've done me a great service by this, young master. My gratitude is yours. "

" You are welcome, but I must make hast now. "; he said

" Ah, yes. "; Fierbeard replied :" You are suppose to leave, are you not ? Well in that case, let me express my gratitude by bestowing you with a proper protection. "

Desmond's gaze fell on his poor sword. He blinked in a wonder if he would perhaps be given a sword to match his suite of armor. But the cleric didn't reach for his bag. Instead, the old man razed his chants and imbued his armor with some inner magical radiance. He felt a warm glow inside in the metal now that seemed to be of a repelling sort for various taints and evils.

" Don't thank me for this. "; Firebeard said :" It is my shame that I don't posses the skill necessary to make this magic last. It will only serve you in your first battle, but not afterwards. Be careful out there young master. "

Desmond smiled and nodded :

" A most skillful gift indeed, master Firebeard. I heartily approve and thank you. "

They've shook hands and he left outside, heading off with his bags to the main library entrance. Shortly upon his departure, Tethoril walked into the inn and approached his friend Firebeard who was studying the gifted scroll. As he saw him he smiled and put the paper down.

" It is hard to find descent folk now a days. "; Firebeard said

" It most certainly is, master Firebeard. "; Tethoril replied :" I see you've met the lad. "

" A fine man and a noble heart in his chest. Rarely do they come like that, and even less rarely last. I gave him what protection I could, but if there was anything within, I couldn't reach it. "

Tethotil grudged in consideration and than nodded at Firebeard :

" You have mine and Gorion's thanks for your efforts, my friend. "

" We all make efforts, my friend. It is choices that deserve any gratitude. "

As he moved into the inner courtyard two large fountains of sparkling water greeted him into the garden planted with red and white roses and many other pretty flowers growing in thick bushes. The sun was high in the noon's sky exposing the true beauty of nature's wonders. Desmond strolled down the narrow path between marble fountains and neatly trimmed flowers populated by herds and herds of colorful butterflies and soon the library emerged trough leaves and blossoms. Gorion said that their time here is at an end, and Desmond believed that. _Nothing lasts forever. _

A large dour in a marble arch stood atop of a broad round staircase, the main entrance to the library's inner hall. Gorion wasn't there. It puzzled him. It was not in Gorion's habit to be late for anything. But suddenly as he pondered these things, someone jumped at his back, knocking him down on the ground most inappropriate and the bag with supplies fell aside. _Another one !_ He thought violently and was about to role over and shoves the attacker the other way but than she spoke with a snort :

" Gotcha !"

Desmond sighed both relieved and annoyed :

" Imoen ! Get of my back or so help me… "

She rose from him and helped him up. It was difficult as he noticed to get up when you are covered in metal plates, but his muscles only experienced slight tension. It was more the meter of skill than strength.

" Shish !"; Imoen frowned :" I was just having a bit of fun ! And here you jump at my throat even though you knew how to do the same to me in few occasions. Need I remind you ?"

If there was any person in Candlekeep who could match her sense for humor to Winthrop, it was her. She was very sneaky and cunning with her tongue potentially as sharp as a rotten sailor's, even as a little girl. In those days, people could sometimes hear her prowl beneath their windows, or see her trying to hide in bushes or shades, and later as she grew older they had to pay special attention. The most striking thing about her was her red practically pink hair, combed to slope down to her shoulders. When she would run on the wind, sun's rays would get entangled in her straight locks making her seem like her head was on fire. She always liked that color and had clothes of a similar fashion, though more a shade purple than pinkish, since it was harder to spot on the walls. She had some skill with a bow, though she'd have to use a smaller one for she wasn't strong enough to stretch the cord of those long ones.

" Well, this isn't like most occasions. "; Desmond grudged :" I'm already at an edge today and I don't need you to… "

She just stood and watched him, sulking like she's offended.

" … I mean, "; Desmond continued :" I could have hurt you. "

She still stood and watched him like she's offended. Like she sees him for the first time.

" All right. "; he sighed :" I'm sorry. I just have a lot on my mind today. "

She finally smiled :

" You're just trying to get on my good side, but I forgive you. And I should have known better than to _attack _you so viciously. "; she came to him and knocked on his chest plate :" Looking good, Des. At first I couldn't even recognize you. I thought you were another one of those visiting lords. "

" Well, what do you know. "; he smiled :" I'm not. "

She got a little serious :

" I've heard that you were attacked today. "

" Sometimes I forget how quickly news spread around here. "

" You wont to talk about it ? I can only imagine what… how disturbing it was. "

_Pretty disturbing. _He thought to him self :" No, thanks. I'd just like to forget the whole thing. " _if gods would allow it._

" Oh, no you won't !"; she said :" Don't even think about feeling guilty ! Would you rather have him… live and you… "

" Still… lesser that two evils isn't good. "; he sighed

" In which book did you reed that ?"; she made a gesture that seemed like it's the most ridicules thing she'd ever heard.

" I don't know. One of Drizzt's adventures, I think. "

They both sat on the wall of the fountain pool. Crystal water sparkled behind them murmuring along with the wind in the leaves.

" You and Gorion are going away, aren't you ?"; she asked sadly

He nodded :

" Gorion asked me to come… "; his palms cowered his face in frustration :" I don't know what in the abyss' name is troubling him so. I feel like he's slipping away and I'm going crazy with feeling helpless. "

" I know. "; she placed her arms around his shoulders :" I care about the old guy too. He's the only one who had any tolerance and patience with me… except you, and now he's like carrying a mountain on his back. Especially after he got that letter and… "; Desmond suddenly razed his eyes at her and she gasped :" Did I say a letter ? Nope, I definitely didn't mention anything like that. Boy, do I tell the craziest things or what ?"

" You saw him receive a letter ?"; he asked agitated :" Did you see what it said ?"

" Well, no… okay, maybe a little… all I had was a quick peek trough the gap in the dour. Sorry… "; he sighed sadly but she wasn't about to let him morn again :" Oh stop grudging. Here, take a look at what Phlydia gave me. "; she presented a black gem, shape and size of a pigeon egg. It was an onyx.

He snorted :

" Did she gave it to you or did you accidentally find it in her pocket ?"

" No !"; she popped pretending to be shocked and abhorred :" I would never… in fact I would. But I didn't. I found her misplaced book and she gave me this bubble as a token of gratitude. "

" Imoen, you know she's old and has memory problems. She probably didn't even realize what she was giving you. "

" Well I didn't have time to say no. While I stopped observing it, she was already gone. "; Des smiled at her she blinked innocently :" So, you get to travel ? I never get to travel. Whish I could come. Yup, that I do. I'm always stuck here. I do wish I could come along. Yup, that is what I wish. "

Desmond grinned and brushed her off gently :

" Gorion would never allow it, and I think you're just trying to avoid penance for what you did this morning. Does the name lord Luck ring a bell ?"

" You mean that arrogant windbag ? I didn't do anything to him. "

" Imoen… "; he said slowly

" All right, all right. He was rude to me yesterday and I… ah… pored some old itching powder up his trousers. "

" Itching powder !"; Desmond coughed

" I only used a little. "

" A little too much, is more like it. The man could barely walk or sit. "

" Well, like I said ; he got what was coming to him. "; she grinned

" One day, Imoen, people like him are going to organize and than they'll come after you. "; he poked her with a finger

" Are you serious ? People like him couldn't organize a refreshment. When they throw a party, guests first think it's a funeral. "

Desmond snorted. No one could remain lukewarm with Imoen around.

" Any way, "; she said :" What would happen if you would, say, forget your sword ? And than, say, I could find it and went after you to give it back to you ? Huh ? What do you think ?"

He smiled :

" I think you'd better shave your tongue soon. It's going to grow a beard with all the lies you roll over it. "

" Oh, really !"; she slugged him away and pooled his sword out of it's boots.

" Hey, that's not a toy, Imoen !"

" All big boys say that. "; she jumped away and ran of with his blade

" Come on ! Give it back !"; he yelled :" I'm not chasing you !"

But she had not the slightest intention. She was giggling and singing from somewhere within the garden :

" …Des forgot his sword ! …Des forgot his sword !"

_Oh, now you're in for it. _ He thought as he went after her. She definitely had the advantage over someone in a heavy armor, but never the less he strolled amongst the bushes silently like a cat. _A big cat with a tone of iron on it's back. _One thing he was also good at was reading tracks on the ground. She certainly did move trough here, but instead of following her, he went around. It was hard to pass trough the thick bushes and not making a sound, but somehow he managed, and than he saw her in front of him, with her back turned. She was expecting him to come form the other side. The sword was on the ground next to her. By the time she heard him, it was too late. He grabbed her and lifted her up, not letting go. She squealed in laughter as he carried her towards fountains. He intended to drop her into one of the pools, but than she got a little loosened, and bit his palm.

" Ouch !"; he yelled as he let her go :" No biting !"

She jumped back at him and they both fell down in the dust rolling, wrestling and laughing all the way. He had to be very careful not to press her with his heavy armor, but still they giggled and poked each other, until someone made his presence known by loudly clearing his throat. They went silent and instantly rose from the dirt. Gorion seemed a bit angry and so sharp one could cut on his gaze. They were first a bit confused, than blushing and after that they started cleaning dust off their clothes.

" Are you two done acting like infants ?"; the old sage said while approaching

" We… "

" We were… "

" We were just… "

" … having some fun. "

" Fun ?"; Gorion said to Imoen strongly :" Is that how you would describe that incident with lord Luck ? There's a time for everything, Imoen, but your clock is broken and standing on ' fun hover '. "

" Sorry. "; she smirked behind her red hair

" Well, what's done is done. "; Gorion said a little softer :" You can do what ever you wish, as long as you pay the price for it. "

" Yeah… "; she bowed her head sounding really depressed :" Penance with Winthrop. "

It was hard for Desmond not to blush. They swiftly gathered the sword and supplies and after a few hugs, Imoen left for her ' punishment ' and Desmond and Gorion went for the main gate. Gorion was in quite a hurry and Des couldn't get close enough to ask a word, rather than attempting to keep up as best as he could. As they paced Des' heart clenched. This was his home and he didn't even know when they'll be back. He could only hope it would be soon. Finally they've reached Hull's post and Gatewarden gave the clearance for gates to be opened. Hull stood aside muttering his speech of swift returns and hopes to se them again soon, as the metal grate slowly razed before them exposing the outside world. Never before did it seem so alien. Desmond and Imoen did venture outside sometimes, but never beyond Gorion's sight, since his influence was the key for their reentry. Those were often happy occasions, but now only a chilling vast of empty space and the great unknown filled their awareness. Des sighed. Gorion didn't seem to notice. He made the first step and led them out with his surprisingly swift pace, giving Hull and the other guards his farewells in passing. As the gate sealed behind them, only silence left. Noises of library's rich life stayed within the Watcher's Wall. Not looking back, Desmond approached his father, who seemed like he was questioning their next direction. He seemed to have made up his mind and turned to face his stepson :

" Listen carefully ; If we ever become separated, it is imperative that you make your way to the Friendly Arm Inn. There you will find Khalid and Jaheira, an elfish couple. They have long bean my friends and you can trust them. "

Desmond just nodded with gaze of attention, but he didn't speak.

" Well, "; Gorion said :" let's get going, shall we ?"; and than a little later he added :" That armor suites you perfectly. "


End file.
